


call out my name

by myownremedy



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, First Time, Getting Together, Hand & Finger Kink, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Lingerie, Porn with Feelings, References to Azriel's Past, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Wing Kink, post acofas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownremedy/pseuds/myownremedy
Summary: On their way to the northern most Illyrian war-camp, Azriel and Elain get caught in a freak snowstorm and are forced to find shelter.





	call out my name

**Author's Note:**

> first fic in over a year and it's...PWP. sorry guys.  
> [this](https://www.studiopia.co.uk/product-page/liana-triangle-bralette) is the bra Elaine is wearing, with matching panties.  
> title from the song of the same name by The Weeknd, even though it's a break up song.  
> thank you to M for blocking out the sex scene w/ me, and A for her encouragement. a HUGE thank you to Salv for betaing & rescuing me from my run on sentences.  
> disclaimer: i don't own A Court of Thorns and Roses and I am making no money off of this. I strongly condemn the act of selling fanfiction for profit and do not give my permission for my fanfic to be sold in any way.

Azriel had been on his way down to his apartment for dinner and a long evening of reading his spies’ reports when Rhysand reached out to him.

 _Do you mind flying Elain up to the northern most Illyrian war-camp?_ Rhys asked without preamble. _There’s something there we need her to look into. I’d winnow and bring her myself, but Feyre and the others and I ran into a spot of trouble yesterday and I’m afraid I’m drained._

A spot of trouble? _Are you hurt? Is Cass?_ Azriel sent.

 _Everyone’s fine, we just need to rest._ Rhys sent, doubtlessly downplaying his own injuries. Sometimes Azriel couldn’t stand him.

Rhys, correctly interpreting Azriel’s silence as hesitation, sent: _Elain doesn’t have to come._

 _Not a problem. I’ll ask her and let you know._ Azriel sent, and raised his mental shield, shutting Rhys out. He had been honest: it wasn’t a problem. An image of Rhys lying dead on the ground near the Cauldron, Feyre sobbing over his body and demanding the High Lords bringing him back, appeared as if he hadn’t spent the last year trying to forget it. No, Rhys had given enough, and so had Feyre. They both had.

Azriel banked, soaring high over the rooftops of Velaris, and flipped over in the air. He began to fly towards the River Estate, the wind singing in his ears.

 

Elain was in the garden, of course, on hands and knees planting winter bulbs despite the bite in the autumn air. Azriel never stopped being impressed at her abilities. After the estate had been built, Elain had salvaged what she could from the overgrown garden and ripped everything out, and then planted new plants amid what remained. The result felt harmonious and whole, not a patchwork, and everything looked beautiful and healthy.

“It looks good.” Azriel said, causing her to look up and smile.

“It’s coming together.” Elain demurred, blushing. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“So it’s possible to still surprise you.” Azriel teased her quietly, sitting in one of the wrought iron chairs on the patio. “Has Rhys or Feyre reached out to you?”

Elain’s easy going expression fell away. “No. Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Not technically a lie. “Rhys asked me to bring you up to the northern most Illyrian war-camp so you can help them out with something.”

Elain wrinkled her nose, clearly remembering the war-camp she had visited previously, over a year ago, and Azriel felt a faint smile tugging on his mouth. “You don’t have to. It’s up to you.”

“Why not winnow me?” Elain said, dusting off her hands and turning to face him. Even with the autumnal chill there was a faint pink blush in her cheeks, and her golden brown hair glinted in the fading sunlight.

“Rhys and the others got into a spot of trouble and need to rest, and it’s too far north for me to winnow to.” Azriel tried not to take it personally. He wouldn’t want to spend three hours flying through the late autumn chill either. “With Mor still on the continent –”

He stopped talking, because Elain was no longer listening. She had a familiar, dreamy expression on her face, eyes focused on something only she could see. Azriel waited, shifting his wings closer to try and warm them.

Suddenly Elain’s face cleared, and she focused on him. And then, to his surprise, she blushed deeply, and averted her gaze.

What had she seen? Azriel’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and licked his lips, trying to moisten them, and watched Elain glanced back up at him and focus on his mouth, then look away again.

“I better go get changed.” She said faintly, and stood up, quickly striding into the house. Azriel was left to wait in the garden, brow knit in confusion. Had she seen him?

Elain came back down fifteen minutes later, having changed into a dusty pink gown and a cobalt blue cloak, a dagger hanging from her belt and her hair pinned up, though a few strands had been left to frame her face.

Azriel couldn’t help staring at the familiar cloak for a second, before shaking his head. “You should change into something warmer. The Illyrian mountains offer some of the harshest conditions in Prythian. And dresses aren’t good for flying.”

“I’ll be fine.” Elain argued. “This gown is wool. Besides, I have this cloak. It’s lined with fur, see?”

Azriel ducked his head to hide his smile. The cloak had been a bad idea, a too lavish gift he hadn’t been able to resist. A few days before Solstice he had been in the Winter Court, delivering a message to Kallias. On his way back to Velaris he had passed through the capitol city of the Winter Court, and had come across a market stall selling goods lined with the winter fur of animals native to Winter. He had looked at the goods, initially thinking of buying his mother something, but the moment he saw the cloak – cobalt blue and lined with soft white rabbit fur – he had thought of Elain, shivering as she tended her garden. Despite Rhys’ repeated assurances that he and Cassian weren’t expected to get the Archeron sisters gifts, he had bought it for her. It was an extravagant present – too extravagant, but he had been unable to resist. On his return to Velaris he had snuck into the Townhouse a few days after Solstice and left the cloak, still wrapped in paper and string, on her bed. Better, he had thought, to give it anonymously than deal with Rhys’ too knowing eyes and busybody tendencies.

At the time Azriel had seen the blue and thought it was perfect because Elain liked blue. He hadn’t realized until the first time he saw her wearing it that it was the same shade of blue as his siphons. So much for anonymous gift giving – he might as well have announced it from the rooftops. Rhys had certainly figured it out as soon as Elain had confessed not knowing who had given it to her.

Now, Azriel folded his arms over his chest. “Even with the cloak, you’ll be cold.” He warned her. “Let me give you some Illyrian flying leathers.”

Elain blushed deeply again, looking scandalized at the prospect of wearing pants. She wasn’t Feyre, parading around in leggings, or Nesta, who had taken to the flying leathers like she had been born in them. Elain, modest and stubborn, liked her dresses and her too human ideas of propriety. Azriel had been fine with that – had found it endearing, even – until the prospect of taking her to the Illyrian mountains this close to winter.

“I’ll be fine.” There was a mulish set to her jaw that Azriel recognized – the Archeon jaw, Cassian called it. Mother above and Cauldron save him, because that look meant there was no way Elain was changing her mind.

“Ready?” At Elain’s nod Azriel scooped her up in his arms and spread his wings, exploding into the sky.

 

He had taken Elain flying before, seeming to always be the one to fly her up to the House of Wind. She knew to wrap her arms around his neck and nestle close to his chest, her familiar lily of the valley scent enveloping him. He could feel the heat of her body despite his leather armor and he had to remind himself to focus on their surroundings. They left Velaris behind quickly, steadily heading north. The city slowly gave way to smaller towns and farmland, and then that changed to forest. The further north they went the colder it got, and there were ominous clouds on the horizon.

“I’m sorry Rhys is dragging you all the way out here,” Azriel said after an hour, watching Elain shiver and tuck her cloak closer around her. He wished he had Rhys or Feyre’s powers so he could make a shield of warm air, but his shields were only good for stopping weapons.

“It’s alright.” Elain said, looking up at him with a smile. “I don’t mind too much.”

“I know you don’t like the war-camps.” Azriel didn’t either. “I don’t blame you. The Illyrians are…brutal.” Elain was giving him a too perceptive look, and he met her eyes. She understood, he knew, what it was like to hate what you were.

“But you trained at a war-camp, right? You and Rhysand and Cassian?” She asked.

“Yes,” Azriel said, debating on whether to expand on the topic. He wasn’t in the practice of talking about himself, a long held habit due to being Rhys’ and Feyre’s Spymaster. More than that he didn’t like to talk about himself because what was there to say? He was the hated and unwanted bastard son of a brutish barbarian who had grown up to be Prythian’s nightmare. But Elain had somehow become the exception. “We trained at the camp you visited last time. Rhys and Cassian were both already there when I arrived. They hated each other, but we figured out we were the three strongest males in the camp. We made an alliance.” Azriel paused. He had never told Elain about his early childhood, though he assumed one of their friends might have saved him the trouble. Elain had certainly never asked about his hands or his parents for he was grateful for.

“Cassian and Rhys were the ones who taught me how to fly.” Elain smiled and Azriel smiled back without meaning too, before forcing himself to look away and scan their surroundings. They were in the foothills of the mountains now, and the ground below them was mostly thick forest with lonely hunting cabins or war-camps breaking up the trees. Elain was still watching him. He could feel her eyes on him, and had to order himself not to shiver or blush. He had always admired Elain _because_ she cared more about people and her household and her garden than power or wealth. As Spymaster, Azriel did terrible things. But he didn’t regret it, because they kept people safe. He trusted Rhys and Feyre to make the right call and to put people of their Court first. But over the 500 odd years he had been alive, he had seen so much death and scheming, so much war and cruelty, all for power or wealth or glory.

Sometimes the only thing that helped drive away the rage and the despair was sitting in the garden with Elain in silence, drinking tea and letting the peace soothe him. He found himself impressed over and over again by her bravery and slow growth over the past year and a half. Although he knew scars from the war remained, he was grateful they were outmatched by her kindness and quiet strength. Whenever he visited her in the garden or saw her admiring the beauty of Velaris, she reminded him of the dreams he had for a better world.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Elain asked. “When all of us had dinner together?”

“When you wanted to stab me with your fork?” Azriel smiled as he remembered Elain trying her hardest to be civil to him, her fingers white knuckled around her fork the entire time.

“I did not!” Elain protested. “I just didn’t know what to think. I had never seen a fae with wings before, and your wings are so beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

Azriel turned bright red, even as his wings flared wide without his permission, glowing orange and gold like the sunset. How could he tell her that among Illyrians, complimenting someone’s wings was akin to inviting them into bed?

Elain was watching him, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly. “Should I have not said that?”

Azriel opened his mouth, to say what he didn’t know, when a blizzard came out of nowhere. One minute, the heavy clouds above them were lit with the last rays of the sunset and the next, they were surrounded by snow and howling winds. They were soaked within seconds. Azriel clutched Elain tighter to him, as if he could shield her from the snow.

“Hang on!” He yelled as he tilted downwards, heading towards the ground as fast as he could.

As a shadowsinger, he could see in the dark, so it was only a few precious minutes later that he saw the hunting cabin he was looking for, its windows dark. _Is it empty?_ He asked his shadows, sending them to the cabin and the surroundings.

 _Yes_ , they chorused. Elain was shivering against him, her hands like ice against his neck. Deciding not to waste more time, Azriel hurtled towards the cabin, wings tucked in close so they wouldn’t snag on errant tree branches. They barely avoided crashing into the ground, Azriel pulling back at the last second so he could land on two feet.

Elain was squinting as he set her down, trying to see despite the blizzard. As soon as both her feet were on the ground she grabbed one of his scarred hands, the other going to the dagger at her belt. Smart. Cassian had trained her well.

“Come on,” Azriel called over the howling of the wind, tugged her towards the cabin. A press of one of his gnarled hands to the door unlocked the wards, and then they were through the door.

 

Inside it was dark, but it was dry. Elain stood with her back against the door as Azriel sent his shadows to twist through the cabin until they located the matches.

“Can you see in the dark?” Elain asked through chattering teeth.

“Yes,” Azriel said, striking a match and lighting the lantern on the kitchen counter. He watched Elain take in the cabin.

It wasn’t much – just one room with a small kitchen, a hearth, a table with a few chairs, and bed tucked into one corner. Only the bathroom was separated by a door near the kitchen. Kindling and firewood was stacked next to the hearth, and Azriel exhaled in relief before trying to unbuckle the top half of his leather armor. His hands were shaking from the cold too badly to manage, and just as he was about to give up Elain was there, knocking his hands out of the way and patiently undoing the straps and buckles until he was down to his wool shirt. He piled his leather armor and all of his weapons other than Truth-teller on the kitchen table, so he could towel them off later.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, before registering that she was still in her snow soaked gown. Even the cloak was wet. He reached behind him to undo the buttons around his wings and then pulled the shirt over his head without ceremony, causing Elain to squeak.

“You have to get out of that gown,” Azriel explained, holding the shirt out to her.

“Wool is still warm when wet.” She said practically, every inch a merchant’s daughter. She was trying her best not to look at him, and he sighed. Usually he found Elain’s modesty endearing, but right now…

“Not when it’s freezing.” He pointed out, and draped the shirt over one of the kitchen chairs before turning his back to her and crouching down to build a fire.

Azriel had to force his gnarled hands not to shake as he arranged wood and kindling and struck a match. In the 500 years since he had gotten his burns, he had mostly mastered his fear of fire, but it always re-appeared at the most inconvenient of times. Rhys and Cassian had patiently waited for him to build a fire more than once, both acting like they hadn’t noticed his hands shaking as he struck matches. They knew – he knew – he had to master it, in case he was in a situation like this one, where his survival depended on a fire.

As the fire caught he sat back on his haunches and watched it. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Elain changing, and then a whispered curse. He didn’t turn around.

“Azriel…” she whispered. “Will you help?” When he turned to look, she was looking right at him, blushing furiously in the dim light from the lantern and the fire. “I just need help with the buttons.”

Azriel stood up and walked over to her, clad only in a pair of tight fitting leather pants. Elain’s eyes roamed over his abdomen and then over his arms. He knew she could see the way the scars on his hands extended to his upper arms, and he resisted the urge to put his arms behind his back. He knew the scars were ugly, and he hated when people stared at them. Sure enough, she had an unreadable expression on her face as she turned to show him the many tiny buttons that marched down the back of her gown.

Did he disgust her? Azriel wondered, undoing the first button. Was she wearing that unreadable expression because she didn’t want him to know how disgusted she was by his scars? Elain’s hands went to the top of the neck of her gown, holding the two sides of fabric together so they didn’t gape too wide with every button he undid.

Azriel’s hands accidentally brushed the warm skin of her upper back and Elain squeaked. “Sorry,” he said roughly, but he accidentally did it again.

“It’s alright.” She whispered. Behind them, the fire crackled and popped. Azriel felt he couldn’t breathe. He was relieved when he reached the last button, his hands brushing the skin of the small of her back.

“I’ll try to make us food,” he said, and stepped away.

Behind him he could hear the sound of the gown hitting the floor. He made more noise than he had too, rummaging in the cupboards until he found a canning jar full of soup, clearly enchanted not to go bad, and a small pot to heat it in.

“I’ll do it,” Elain said as he unscrewed the lid. He turned to look at her without meaning to and had to swallow at the sight of her in his shirt. Mother save him. Compared to him she was so tiny. The shirt was more of a dress on her, and he could see the wool stockings she was wearing under it. And then her words sunk in, and he swallowed again. Elain offered him food so often that he knew it didn’t mean anything, but it felt different, somehow, tonight.

“Alright.” Azriel managed, and busied himself with building up the fire.

 

They shared a quiet, tense meal of stew together, knees touching as they sat at the table, as close to the fire as they could get.

“What is this place?” Elain asked, and Azriel tried not to look at her. He had miscalculated when he had given her his shirt. He hadn’t prepared for the way it would make him feel, longing curling hungrily in his chest. It took everything in him not to let his mind stray.

“It belongs to my mother’s family.” He answered quietly. “She won’t mind that we’re using it.”

“Oh.” Elain said. She sounded like she had more questions, and Azriel looked at her, but Elain wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were on the bed and she had an unreadable expression on her face.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” He told her. It would be cramped – the room on the cabin floor was too small for him to stretch his wings out. He would also have to put his armor back on and maybe use her cloak as a blanket – but it was doable.

Elain, however, looked incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can share – it’s big enough.” She said to his surprise.

“I –” Azriel stuttered. “I don’t want to – make you uncomfortable.”

“I won’t be,” Elain said simply, that mulish set of her jaw back. He was going to put his foot down, famous Archeon jaw or no, but then her face softened. “Please, Azriel, won’t you be cold? I’ll worry about you all night.”

Fuck.

“Fine,” he growled, and Elain smiled in satisfaction, the same way Feyre did when she got her way.

As if thinking of Feyre had summoned him, Rhys reached out to him, mentally knocking against his shield. _Azriel?_

 _We’re alright._ Azriel sent. _We got caught in a blizzard but we found shelter. I’ll fly Elain up there tomorrow, once the blizzard dies down._

 _Do you need food?_ Rhys sent, clearly concerned.

 _No._ Azriel said, showing him a mental image of the cabin and the soup.

 _Keep warm_. Rhys sent. _I’ll keep Nesta out of your hair._

Inwardly Azriel groaned, thinking of how Nesta would react to the idea of him sharing a bed with Elain, and then yawned. Elain had found a comb in one of the cupboards near the bed and was slowly working it through her mass of golden-brown hair. Outside the wind howled, and Azriel crossed to the door to make sure it was locked.

“I’ll take the side of the bed closest to the door,” he said, staring at the dark grain of the door and hoping for composure. When he turned back around, Elain was smiling, but instead of saying anything she just got into bed, scooting towards the wall of the cabin. Azriel turned away from the inviting space left in the bed and unbuckled Truth-Teller from his thigh, putting the dagger on the bedside table. He thought about sharpening the legendary dagger, or going outside to scout the area, despite his shadows reporting it was all clear. But it was clear he was just delaying getting into bed with her. Azriel had never been a coward before, and he wasn’t going to start now.

If he had been alone he would have taken off his leather pants – they weren’t comfortable to sleep in – but instead he blew out the lantern, tucked his wings in tight, and got under the covers.

Elain lay a few inches away, her back to him. He could hear was the sound of her breathing and the sounds of the fire. He could feel was the warmth of her body. He could smell her lily of the valley scent, and it enveloped him, mingling with his own cedar scent. Azriel blushed again.

This must be a test. This had to be a punishment sent to him from the Mother for all the crimes he’d committed as Spymaster. He didn’t question that he deserved it, but by the Cauldron, he would have preferred anything else but this.

Elain’s breathing evened out, heartbeat slowing as she fell asleep, and he tried to relax. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, he already knew, but at least he could guard her. As if Elain heard this, she turned over until she was facing him, face still slack with sleep and pink mouth slightly open. His chest tightened at the sight. He shouldn’t be seeing this. He thought absently of Lucien, now at the Dawn Court since Elain had told him she would never be with him, mate bond or no mate bond. He thought of Mor, and the way both of them had cried and embraced when she had come out to him, out of mingled relief and grief, before she had left for the Continent. Mor had told him he deserved happiness, making it clear she had noticed the way he gravitated towards Elain.

But he had been hesitant to imagine what it would be like to tell Elain how he felt. The few times he had dreamed of – _being_ with Elain in this way, he had dreamed of courting her. It was a dream of dancing with her at Starfall, of taking her back to his small apartment and clumsily cooking her dinner. He’d buy her flowers, and tell her about his life, and then maybe…

He had never imagined them here, stuck in a piece of his past, sharing a bed out of necessity.

It didn’t matter, Azriel reminded himself, his eyes tracing the lines of Elain’s face absently. For all he knew, Elain was still in love with Graysen, and considered Azriel a friend, not a suitor. He would not jeopardize her friendship for anything in this world.

*

Azriel woke with a start, blinking to clear his eyes. He had been dreaming of fire, and darkness. His pounding heart calmed as he took in the dim cabin, the fire safely confined to the hearth and Elain’s dusty pink dress and fur lined cloak stretched over two chairs to dry.

He could feel the warmth of Elain’s body in bed next to him. Their legs were tangled, her hand rubbing up and down his scarred arm to soothe him. “It’s okay,” she murmured sleepily. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Azriel rolled over to look at her, wings tucked tightly against his back, and propped himself up on one arm. Elain smiled sleepily at him, her hair glinting in the firelight.

“Sorry.” Azriel whispered, trying to conceal his shame, but Elain shook her head.

“Don’t apologize,” she said quietly. “I have bad dreams too.”

Azriel thought, with a pang, of the sight of Hybern’s warriors dragging Elain, bound and sobbing, to the Cauldron; of the sight of her, wrapped up in chains, in Hybern’s tent; of her disbelieving whisper: _you came for me._

He took in the panes of her beautiful face, gilded by the firelight, her hair in disarray. She watched him carefully, her lovely brown eyes moving over his features. Azriel was suddenly aware of the stillness and the quiet of the cabin, broken only by the crackle and pop of the fire and the sounds of their breathing. It was hard to breathe with Elain watching him like that, and her dressed only in his shirt. It was slipping off one of her pale shoulders, revealing one lacey, embroidered strap of her underclothes. He looked away, knowing how modest she was. Seeing her like this, hair unbound, face soft and open, felt like an intrusion. He had the overwhelming urge to reach out and tug the shirt up to cover her shoulder, so instead he stared hard at the embroidered quilt.

When Azriel looked back at Elain, she was still watching him. There was something hot and fierce in her eyes, something that refused to be denied…something that made him reach out with one scarred hand and tuck a lock of golden-brown hair behind one of her delicately pointed ears. Hardly daring to breathe, he hesitantly touched the side of her face. Elain stared up at him, face open and trusting, and then turned her face into his hand. Her lips pressed one gentle kiss against his scarred palm.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat, chest tight and painful. Elain’s eyes slid shut as she pressed another kiss against his now shaking hand. He tried to pull away, but she caught his hand with one of her own. This time, the kiss she pressed against his palm was open mouthed, her breath hot on his skin. She opened her eyes and turned slightly away from his hand to look at him, her hand still pressing his against the side of her face. His thumb stroked along her jaw as he stared dumbly at her pink mouth. Even in his most illicit imaginings he had never dared to imagine her kissing his scars – the result of so much pain – with such tenderness. Azriel recalled, suddenly, the way she had looked at his hands and siphon and breathed ‘ _beautiful;_ ’ he remembered blushing despite himself. She had been half lost to visions at the time, and he had written it off, thinking surely she had been talking about his siphon, but maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she had been talking about his hands, as scarred and ugly as they were.

“Az,” Elain said, her voice husky. He looked at her, and when she pulled him towards her he didn’t resist. His thumb stroked along her jaw as he kissed her. They fit together perfectly, and something in his chest loosened at the breathy noise she made against his mouth. “Az,” she whispered again. “My Azriel.”

He pulled away. She looked up at him trustingly, and he hesitantly ran a hand through her hair. He didn’t want to stop touching her. But he knew – he knew – “We shouldn’t do this.”

Elain’s eyes hardened. “Why not?”

All of the practical reasons Azriel reminded himself of frequently seemed to leave his head, and he swallowed and looked away, forcing his scent not to change. “Because you deserve better, Elain.”

“There’s no one better,” she told him, her voice soft but firm.

“I’m a bastard and the Spymaster.” He buried the frozen rage at his core until the words were just facts, emotionless and neutral. “I torture people. You deserve someone who is as kind as you are.”

“You are,” Elain said. Then, when he shook his head: “Look at me.”

He did, unable to deny her anything, and she reached out to touch his face. “When I wanted to die after being turned fae, you sat with me for hours. You made sure I wasn’t alone, and you barely knew me.” He opened his mouth, to say that so had Nesta and Feyre, and she shook her head. “When I was lost in my visions, you were the only one who knew what was happening to me. You offered me a way back to the world. When the Cauldron took me, you and Feyre risked everything to get me back, when not even my fiancé or my mate did.” She ran her hand through his hair. “And went I sent Lucien away, you stood by me and promised me that listening to what I wanted wasn’t wrong. You believed me when I told you I could never be with him.”

He remembered that – remembered hugging Elain, and then leaving to shadow Lucien and make sure he wasn’t about to try to kidnap Elain despite her wishes.

“I want _you_.” Elain told him, her voice raw. “Since the day I woke up with a healed heart and you came over to sit with me in the garden, I have wanted you. You are the best part about this new life. So don’t tell me I deserve better, because there is _no one_ better, Azriel.” When he blinked rapidly, she sat up so she could be closer to him. “If you don’t want this – don’t want me – that’s fine. But if you do, and are just telling me ‘no’ because you don’t think you deserve me? Please let me make that choice. Because I love you. Please just let me make you as happy as you make me.”

How could he deny her that choice, when every other choice had been taken from her? Azriel reached out, needing to touch her, but still hesitated to touch and curled his fingers in the wool of the shirt. “What do you want?” He breathed the words out, his shadows curling in the corners of the cabin.

“I want _you_ ,” she promised. “I want whatever you will give me.”

“Everything,” he promised in return. Her smile was the brighter than the winter moon. Elain held her arms out, and he pulled her into his lap so she was straddling him – something he had wanted to do ever since he had first held her in his arms. She kissed him hesitantly, her arms winding around his neck, and Azriel cupped her face with one hand, the other clenching in her long hair. He didn’t know how much experience Elain had, but the more they kissed the more confidence she gained. Every time he kissed her she made this quiet sound, her breath hitching in her throat, and it made him press closer. Elain tended to be sweet and mild, but he knew from the determination and steel he had glimpsed over their friendship that a fae as wild and animalistic as the rest of them lived inside her. He opened his mouth, tongue swiping over her bottom lip, and she moaned and kissed him harder, mouth opening for him and tongue moving to meet his. She scraped her nails through the hair at the base of his neck and he growled, making her laugh against his mouth and do it again. He moved the hand in her hair down to clench in the fabric at the small of her back, and she drew back.

Azriel, for all of his reservation and composure, was only as good as what he was – an Illyrian bastard, something wild and bred for war, and he couldn’t help wanting to snarl in satisfaction at the way she looked. Her mouth was swollen and her hair was a mess, but most satisfying was the way she was smirking at him, sitting in his lap wearing his shirt. He reached out to tangle his fingers in it and she sat up straight, knocking his hand away so she could pull the shirt off her body.

Then Elain was wearing nothing by lacy underclothes, and acres of pale skin on display. Azriel’s mouth went dry at the sight of her, heat pooling in his gut. She wore a sheer bra, embroidered with pink flowers and green leaves that only partially obscured her rosy nipples. Her underwear was the same, the embroidered green vines and pink flowers wrapping around her hips and the apex of her thighs, partially obscuring the dark hair there.

“Fuck,” Azriel said gutturally, trying to take it all in. Elain was blushing, pink crawling down her face and neck to her chest. “You look – _Elain –_ ” He had to kiss her then, biting her bottom lip and then soothing it with his tongue before his lips moved from her mouth to the sensitive skin under her ear. She gasped against his neck, burying her hands in his black hair. He began to kiss down her neck, gently worrying the thin skin with his teeth before kissing it. He wanted to touch her, and he cupped her shoulder with one scarred hand before drawing back.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, and Elain laughed.

“You better.” she teased, smiling. “The females at the lingerie shop promised me this lingerie would make you want to.”

Azriel froze, dumbfounded. She had bought this for him? “And here I was, trying so hard not to look at you in your pretty gowns.” He said softly, thumb stroking along the cap of her shoulder. It was true – he worked hard not to notice the way Elain’s gowns hugged her waist and the curves of her figure, the way the pink she favored brought out the blush in her cheeks, or the blue brought out the gold in her hair. Before she had renounced Lucien, he had reminded himself repeatedly that she was mated, that it was inappropriate to look at her like that. After she had renounced Lucien he had reminded himself she was his friend, not to mention his High Lady’s sister, and it was inappropriate to look at her and wonder what she looked like underneath that gown. But he had never imagined she would be wearing this.

Elain drew him back to her, kissing him, and he lost himself in the heat of her mouth and her smell. His scarred hands moved from her sides to her lace covered breasts, causing her to shiver. He smiled darkly against her mouth, pinching a nipple through the lace.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, drawing back to look at her face. “I don’t want to break it.” She nodded, reaching out to stroke his arm, and he smiled.

“The clasp is in the back.” Elain told him, moving her mane of hair over a shoulder letting him fumble with the straps of her bra until it came free. Azriel leaned back to kiss her again as he gently tugged the straps down her arms and off her body. Then he swept his scarred hands up and down her arms again until she relaxed. When he drew back to look at her Elain looked back shyly, half covering her breasts with one arm.

“Alright?” he asked. He knew how modest she was, and she was being so brave, letting herself be bare before him. At least he was already shirtless; it put them on somewhat equal footing.

Elain nodded, and he leaned forward and eased her back against the pillows until he was hovering over her. She looked up at him, dark eyes wide, and he let himself smile openly at her.

“You look beautiful.” He told her, and her answering smile warmed him. Azriel began to kiss his way down her body, lips lingering on her neck and collarbone. She sighed happily, body relaxing beneath him, then tensed again as he ran one scarred hand over her left breast. She trembled as he thumbed her peaked nipple, gasping slightly.

“Yes,” he said nonsensically before moving his mouth to her other breast. For a moment he just breathed, open mouthed, over her nipple, watching it tighten and pucker beneath him. Elain shifted, restless, and he smiled before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“Oh!” Elain gasped. He hummed, pinching her left nipple and rolling it as he sucked on the other one. She shuddered, and he grazed her nipple with his teeth, making her pull away, and then push back up, like she didn’t know what she wanted. He wanted to drive her as crazy as hearing those little gasps and noises was making him.

He rubbed his face, prickly with stubble, against her delicate skin, making her breath hitch, before kissing down her sternum. Elain’s hands were in his hair, tugging gently on the windblown curls, but they stilled as he pressed a kiss next to her bellybutton.

“Azriel?” She asked hesitantly as he pressed another kiss right above the lace of her panties, one hand tracing nonsense patterns down one thigh. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at her, chin resting below her bellybutton. “Do you trust me?” He asked instead of answering. “I think you’ll like it.”

Elain was worrying her lower lip, those brown eyes full of nervousness, but after a moment she nodded.

Azriel held himself still for a minute, the wild Illyrian in him wanting to take off her panties and just go for it, but that wasn’t who he was. And besides, Elain’s body was stiff with tension. So instead he ran his hands down her thighs and began to kiss his way down them.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, going slowly to let her warm to the impropriety of it. Her legs were so pale and as delicately shaped as the rest of her. It drove him crazy, being able to kiss what had been hidden until her skirts for so long. Even her knees were beautiful. Even her ankles.

Elain laughed when he kissed the arch of her foot and he smiled, feeling how much more relaxed she was. He wanted her to stop thinking, to stop worrying about what was right and wrong, to completely forget whatever human society said about sex and propriety and just be here with him, wrapped up in the sheets.

She shifted impatiently as he began to kiss his way back up one calf, making a soft, impatient sound. Her legs rubbed together for a minute before finally falling open. Azriel reached up and rubbed one thumb soothingly along the thin skin of her inner thigh, and her breath hitched. He dragged his thumb up, higher, until he felt the slickness on her skin, and he knew his smile was dark with satisfaction. Then he put his mouth there, just breathing against her skin, and she forgot herself enough to whine impatiently.

Gods, he could smell her, her usual scent overlaid with earthy musk. He wanted to run his tongue across the lace panties she was still wearing and then tear them off of her, but he needed to ease into this.

“Can I take these off?” Azriel asked, sitting up and hooking two gentle fingers beneath the translucent lace on her hips. Elain nodded again, blushing furiously, and lifted her hips so he could ease the panties down her legs and off.

Then she was bare before him. For a minute he just looked at her. She was so beautiful; he could have looked at her for hours. But she was shy and she shifted impatiently beneath his gaze. He could almost see rational thought rushing back, so he moved until he was lying between her thighs and then carefully lifted her legs until they lay over his shoulders. He flared his wings up and out so that if she kicked out by accident she wouldn’t hurt him.

“Azriel,” Elain whined, blushing furiously, “what are you –”

Her voice cut off with a gasp as he licked a strip up her cunt. He groaned at the taste of her, musky on his tongue but sweet, too. She sunk her hands into his hair, urging him on, and he obeyed, licking her again. He couldn’t get enough of that taste, tongue swiping up and down a few times, getting her nice and wet before he moved his face up. His fingers dug into the soft skin of her thighs as he found her clit and sucked. Elain made a feral noise, and he grinned. _That_ was what he wanted, had been waiting for. And then he abruptly stopped smiling as her fingers gently traced along one of the major veins in his right wing. _Fuck_.

“I Saw this.” She said dreamily. “Earlier today, when we were in the garden – I Saw the two of us like this.”

Elain stroked along the edge of his wing, rubbing her thumb at the talon in the center, and then dragged her fingers down, and he moaned against her. Molten heat pooled in his gut, then lightning crackled down his spine as she let go of his hair to drag her fingertips down the center of his left wing. At some point Azriel had shut his eyes, but when he opened them and looked up her face was knit in concentration as she ran her hands along his wings, her hips rocking gently against his mouth.

Did she know to touch his wings from her visions, or had someone mentioned it to her? He didn’t know and he didn’t care; all he cared about was that she was doing it, her slender hands so gentle, even as her hips were moving more insistently against him. He sucked on her clit harder and she gasped, hips jerking up. Azriel reached out and laid an arm across her pelvis, holding her down, and in retaliation she drummed her heel against his back. He sucked at her clit harder and she gasped, trying to clamp her thighs around his head. Then he moved so he could thrust his tongue into her and she moaned.

Was it the fact this was so illicit, Azriel wondered as he fucked his tongue in and out of her, that was getting to her? He moved back to her clit, flicking it with his tongue, and she tried to drag him closer. She even stopped paying attention to his wings, focusing only on chasing her pleasure. But she needed more.

He dipped the index finger of his free hand into her. Fuck, she was so wet; his finger sunk in without problem, and she spread her legs eagerly as if asking for another. He obliged, twisting and scissoring his fingers, and then curled them up. Elain whined louder, and he hummed in agreement, sucking harder on her clit. She was tensed up now, body thrumming with tension. He curled his fingers again, then gently grazed his teeth against her clit, and felt her shudder and jerk as she began to come. He kept going, wondering if maybe he could make her come again.

“Stop.” Elain said weakly, and Azriel obeyed immediately, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the battered quilt. “Az…come up here. I want to see you.”

He could deny her nothing, so he wiped his mouth with one hand and disentangled himself, moving until he was hovering above her, his knees on either side of her hips. He was so fucking hard, his cock straining in his leather pants. Azriel wanted her to touch him; he wanted her to stop. He couldn’t decide.

Elain reached out and traced the line of one of his Illyrian tattoos with a gentle finger, from his collarbone to his hands, and smiled.

“I love your hands,” she whispered, and Azriel looked away, no longer hard, shame churning in his stomach suddenly – shame, and icy rage.

“No, look at me,” Elain said gently. It took him a minute and a few deep breaths to obey, and the look in her eyes pierced him deeper than any dagger or arrow ever could. “I love them, Azriel. I think they’re beautiful.”

She reached out to pull him down, until they were slotted together, and brought one of his hands to his mouth, tracing the lines of his scars with her tongue.

He didn’t have a lot of feeling left in his hands, but the sight of her doing that made him swallow and blink hard. She let one of his hands go, only to turn her attention to the other hand, kissing it tenderly. She met his gaze and blushed as she licked the fingers that had been inside her, and Azriel was suddenly achingly hard all over again.

“I want to see you,” Elain said when she was done, and he almost fell in his efforts to oblige. She dragged a slim hand down his chest, over the muscles of his stomach, and stopped at the laces of his leather pants. “Can I take these off?”

“Yeah.” Azriel said stupidly. He shifted until he could stand up and fumbled with the laces. Illyrian flying leathers were always a pain to take off, but it somehow went quickly underneath Elain’s eyes. He took off his drawers as well, and the heat in Elain’s eyes when he did made him stumble in his haste to get back to the bed.

Elain ran a hand over his hip, then paused as she neared his cock.

Azriel waited. He didn’t know if she had been with anyone else, if she and that absolute asshole, Graysen, had slept together during their courting or engagement, but if she hadn’t…

Elain gently reached out and touched the head of his cock, causing Azriel to hiss and his cock to twitch.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Elain said. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Azriel’s voice was raw to his own ears. “It’s just sensitive.”

Elain nodded, biting her lip, and gently traced the vein in his cock with a finger. “I’ve never done this before.” She admitted, and Azriel shut his eyes for a second.

“We can stop, if you want.” He offered, and Elain shook her head.

“No, I want to continue – I just – don’t know how. Will you show me?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes. “How to touch you, I mean?”

How did she know exactly what to say to undo him? Azriel wondered dumbly as he nodded, and took her slim hand in one of his, wrapping it gently around his cock. He was so hard his foreskin had already retracted, and he gently moved her hand up and down, showing her how it moved, until she got the idea and began to move her hand faster. All too soon he had to tell her to stop, before he embarrassed himself.

“Why?” Elain asked, smiling. “I want you to – spend.” She blushed, and Azriel wondered if those blushes could be considered a weapon.

“I want that too.” Azriel admitted. “But…I thought we should talk about how.” Carefully he reached out and brushed a finger against her clit, which made her gasp, and then ran that finger to her opening and dipped in. “Do you –” He didn’t know how to say it, like he was an idiot of eighteen again. “We don’t have to…”

“Yes,” Elain said, pulling him toward her. He dipped another finger inside. She was wet and hot around his fingers, which made satisfaction curl around his chest. She was wet because of _him_.

“More,” Elain said, and Azriel slipped a third finger into her and curled them up, stretching his hand so he could thumb at her clit. She was shifting her hips in circles now, trying to ride his fingers, and he smiled before pressing a careful kiss to her mouth.

“More,” Elain repeated, and Azriel drew back. Then Elain reached down and took his cock in hand, jacking it gently. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, and she nodded, past blushing. He could feel the pull towards her, the heat singing in his blood. It was instinctual at this point, the way he wanted to move with her, and he could tell she felt the same way.

“Please,” Elain repeated, voice nearing desperate.

“Lay back.” Azriel said. “It shouldn’t hurt – tell me if it does.”

“I will.” Elain promised impatiently, lying back until she was spread out on the bed before him, legs falling open. Azriel hovered over her, propped up with one arm, and kissed her carefully. She kissed him back, mouth moving against his, but he could feel her impatience.

“Ssh,” he soothed, even as he took himself in hand and lined them up, and then pushed in.

 _“Oh,”_ Elain gasped. Azriel groaned, even as he paused, trying to master himself. Elain immediately began to tug at him, first at his shoulders, then at his hips. “Please,” she said for the third time. “It doesn’t hurt…I want…”

“Ssh,” he said again, and pushed in further, until he was fully inside her. Elain sighed, sounding satisfied, even as she clenched around him, which made him gasp.

“Alright?” Azriel asked, and she nodded, eyes drifting shut. That was all he needed, and then he was moving, drawing out of her before thrusting back in. Elain gasped, eyes opening to watch him. She looked like something out of a dream, her golden-brown hair in disarray around her, a flush spreading from her neck down to her breasts, the heat in her eyes urging him on. He felt his wings spread out as he began to thrust faster. Elain began to tilt her hips up, silently begging for more.

Azriel paused long enough to kneel, and gripped one of her thighs, pulling her leg over his shoulder. She mirrored the position with her other leg, and then he was moving again, slamming against her. Elain gasped, clearly feeling him deeper. Azriel grinned. The headboard was beginning to knock against the wall of the cabin, but he didn’t care. They were alone in the Illyrian mountains, the only ones for miles and miles according to his shadows. It was just them in the cabin, and the fire they were making between them.

He let go of one of her thighs to press down on her clit and she whined, high and loud. “That’s it,” Azriel said, not really paying attention to what he was saying, flames licking up his spine. “Let me hear you.” He began to rub circles on her clit as he kept thrusting in and out, fingers clumsy. He was beginning to lose his coordination, as the flame in his spine licked higher and higher. Elain started grinding against his pelvis every time he was fully sheathed in her, chasing that orgasm. It was the hottest thing he had ever seen

“Fuck, Elain,” Azriel moaned as he pulled out, then thrust back in. “The things you do to me.”

“What?” Elain asked breathlessly, hips moving against him, beneath his finger. Everything about her was gold and heat. “Tell me what I do to you.”

“Everything,” Azriel said, and shut up for a second before he could pour his entire heart out. “Come for me, love, please.”

Elain nodded, teeth worrying her bottom lip, hips still moving in tight circles. He pulled almost all the way out, then thrust back in as he pressed down on her clit and she cried out as her orgasm hit her, like a wave breaking against a distant shore.

He wanted to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.

Azriel could feel her shuddering and clenching around him, and he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up, feeling stupid and animalistic in his pursuit of his own orgasm. Elain’s hands were on him then, one in his hair, another touching the sensitive skin one of his wings.

“Come for me,” She ordered, the words the reverse of what she had said when he found her in Hybern’s tent, and oh, fuck.

His orgasm ripped through him with an all encompassing blaze of heat, as if trying to burn away any shadows he might have had left. He cried out, gasping as Elain continued to stroke the skin of his wing, and then he gradually came to a stop, shuddering against her.

Her legs slipped out from above his shoulders and down his arms before she tucked them next to him and drew him down to her. Azriel gratefully rested his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent as he listened to the pounding of her heart and the mingled sounds of their breathing.

Reluctantly Azriel drew back and eased out of her, then settled onto his side of the bed before drawing her into his arms. Elain lay her head on his chest and he smiled.

“Do you want my shirt back? Or your underclothes?” he asked.

“No.” Elain said. “I just want to stay like this.”

They could do that. Azriel tugged the covers up around them and began to absent-mindedly run his fingers through Elain’s hair, the golden-brown strands catching occasionally on his calluses.

“I’ve wanted that for a long time,” Elain said softly, and Azriel smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“Me too,” he admitted.

Then: “I love you,” he said, and felt Elain’s answering smile against his chest. He didn’t know how to express everything he was feeling. He had always been bad at that, having not had anyone but the shadows to talk to when he was young. But he had truly felt peace the first time he sat with her in the townhouse garden, drinking tea and reading his spies’ reports. It had been an unwanted realization, for so many reasons – Mor, Lucien, Elain’s health, his responsibilities, what Nesta would think. So he had tried to put it out of his mind, until Elain had told him, showing the steel that lived deep within her, that she had rejected Lucien.

He knew they should talk about what this meant, and what they were going to tell the others, and so many other things. But there would be time for that later.

“I’m glad you like the cloak,” Azriel told her absently. She stirred against his chest.

“I thought it was you!” Elain said, drowsy but pleased. “Anyone else would have owned up to the gift. But I thought maybe you didn’t want them to know you had gotten it for me because you’re so shy.” She snuggled closer against him. “It gave me hope that you felt the same way I did.”

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he whispered, but she was asleep. Azriel smiled and pulled the quilt up over her shoulders. Tomorrow morning they would have to get dressed and fly to the Illyrian war-camp where Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian waited. Elain would have to look at or for something or someone, probably having to due with the Illyrian unrest, and they would have to figure out what they wanted to say about their new relationship to their busybody friends and Elain’s sisters. But for now, it was just them, safe and hidden away in each other’s arms while the wind howled outside.

**Author's Note:**

> let's never talk about this again, thanks, bye!   
> PS my tumblr is[ here :) ](http://marnz.tumblr.com/)


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